An Open Letter to My Husband From My Pregnancy Hormones

Image source: Thinkstock
Image source: Thinkstock

Dear husband,

I’ve always believed that we should take responsibility for our own actions. And then I became pregnant with your baby. Now I don’t know what I believe anymore.

I know there have been times when I haven’t been myself during this pregnancy. Perhaps you’ve noticed the subtle shifts in my moods (subtle like a club across your face). Maybe you were blindsided, insulted or afraid. I just want you to know that my pregnancy hormones made me do it – I can’t be held responsible. Allow me to explain.

Pregnancy hormones are like an alternate personality that appears when something goes awry, like when our Wi-Fi runs slow. It says to me, “Step aside, sweetheart. We have two options. We can restart the modem or we can lose our damn minds. I recommend we lose our damn minds. Follow my lead – I’ll start by throwing your iPad.”

The first time my “alternate personality” (I call her Tina, feel free to address her by name as well) got me into a scuffle with you, I noticed you initially argued back as if you were arguing with me and not Tina. Rookie mistake, but we’re both new at this so it’s understandable. At one point it dawned on you that something wasn’t quite right. You probably discovered I’ve been taken over by something else when I burst into tears and said, “… and then you ate the last piece of pizza without even asking me first! It was SUPREME! You don’t even LIKE supreme!” Taken over by something more drunk-like, wild-eyed, and desperate.

As an aside, eating the last piece of pizza without so much as a courtesy announcement was cruel. I guess you and Tina both have your faults.

You see, pregnancy hormones are somewhat on par with PMS, except Tina tends to have more raw passion with a “Never give up, never surrender!” warrior spirit. Someone wise once told me an influx of a woman’s hormones isn’t a sign that she’s being crazy and irrational, but rather that she’s losing the filters that are often in place to help keep the peace. This unfiltered realness is actually an asset if you think about it. In fact, some Native American tribesmen would honor menstruating, hormonal women and call on them for advice, insight and guidance.

In other words, when I’m hormonally out of control, I’m actually a spiritual genius. Please remember that next time.

Regardless, Tina is admittedly rather new for the both of us, so we’re in this together. She doesn’t just show up out of the blue to wreak havoc, rather, she tends to appear when I feel slighted or if a situation is frustrating.

The last time she noticed you were toying with a nerve, she suddenly appeared and said, “Is there a problem here?”

I’m not sure what she might have said after that because I was in a hormonal haze. All I know is I had to apologize for Tina after I got over it. And by “get over it,” I mean forgot why I was in a fury in the first place.

Then there have been other times Tina has intervened. Like that one time I was washing all the bath towels and I noticed you had just gotten dressed after a shower. Confused, I asked, “What did you use to dry off? All the towels are in the washer.”

Then, casually (salt in the wound) you said, “I used your robe.”

My robe. My fluffy, beloved bathrobe that I use to dry off my body. At this point it barely even closes around my belly, leaving me fully exposed to the stiff autumn breeze funneling through my bedroom window, but it’s mine and it’s fluffy and it’s personal and it’s mine!

That’s when Tina stepped in and Tina don’t play. “Please tell me you didn’t use my robe.”

“Yeah, what’s the problem?”

“What’s the problem?! It’s my personal robe that you just rubbed all over your jewels! You might as well burn it! It’s ruined. RUINED!”

“So what if I dried myself off with it, I was all clean!” I could see you were flustered, probably by your own selfishness. You were definitely no match for Tina.

“I use my robe to dry off my face. MY FACE! You’ve turned my robe into a butt towel that I use on my face!” It was then Tina took things into her own hands, grabbed the wet towels out of the washer, dumped them at your feet and said, “Next time, use one of these!” and stormed out of the room.

Shortly after, I re-entered and put them all in the dryer. I know Tina was trying to make a point, but I was worried they’d start to mildew.

Then of course, there was that one time you almost had me killed. While we shopped at Target, you went on and on about how your protective instincts were heightened and you wanted to wreck fools who could possibly pose a danger to me, like the teenager who almost hit me with his cart. Then as we were leaving the store, instead of helping to guide me safely across a busy intersection, you darted to the other side, leaving me waddling in your wake, vulnerable to crazed shoppers in SUVs. Tina arrived immediately. All you could say was, “I’m sorry babe, your side to side waddle is so unbelievably slow, I have a hard time remembering you can’t keep up.”

“Oh hell no,” Tina said to me. “Girl, hold my earrings.”

The man who just claimed to be haunted by a desperate need to protect me and his unborn child just ran across the street to save his own butt and left me there to die in a parking lot. Tina was speechless. Well, until she got in the car and then couldn’t stop going on and on about how appalled she was, complete with grandiose gestures and pronouncements.

To be honest, after a while I sort of wanted her to shut up too, but I’m afraid of her so I just let her do her thing.

There are probably many more examples I could share, but I don’t want us to live in the past. I just wanted to explain things a little and apologize on Tina’s behalf. She means well, she just wants to protect me whilst simultaneously making me feel like I’m losing my freaking mind. For some reason this is a normal hormonal part of creating another human being. I don’t question it, I just hold on and brace myself while the storm passes.

For the record, you’ve been wonderful, kind, patient and loving. I can tell you think I’m so beautiful (probably because you never shut up about it) even when I feel like a beached whale in maternity yoga pants. Other than the time you basically left me defenseless in the middle of traffic, you’re my hero. There’s no other man Tina and I would rather be with. We love you.

And she’s sorry.

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Article Posted 5 years Ago

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